War Stories
by ladyoftheknightley
Summary: Draco Malfoy's mother insists he meets with a woman from the Daily Prophet. Astoria Greengrass is not exactly who he was expecting. For Jenna/whirlwinds of watercolours


"Why do you want me to go, mother?"

"Because she requested a meeting with you," Narcissa replied.

"And we're just going to give this..._woman_ whatever she wants, are we, because she printed some puff-piece about you giving money to the hospital?" Draco asked scathingly. "I know she made it sound like you're giving all this money to charity out of the goodness of your own heart because you've seen the error of your ways, but that's not true, is it? You _have_ to give the money away because it was written into the terms of your parole!" He slammed his teacup down on the table.

"I am well aware, Draco, both of my financial situation and the conditions of my freedom," Narcissa said. Her tone was calm and pleasant, but the look in her eyes was severe. "But the piece, however ridiculous you deem it personally, has helped me to regain some of the social standing we had _before_. Already this week I have received two invitations to—"

"Two invitations! Well, why didn't you say so?! I've always wanted an _invitation_," Draco snarled.

"Draco!" For the first time, his mother raised her voice slightly, and he made a deliberate effort to calm down.

"Mother, I am sorry but I do not think any journalist is going to be interested in my charity work or views on whether midnight blue or soft grey is the most flattering colour for dress robes this season," he said. "I am pleased that the article has helped you to become reaccepted into your old social circles, but I don't think—"

"No, you don't think, and that's your problem," Narcissa said. "The article painted a very flattering portrait of me, I know. The mother whose love saved Harry Potter! The woman who shows her remorse by giving vast fortunes to charities for those affected by the war! The society lady who could tell you exactly what you should be wearing to dinner this season! But there's a reason I wanted such an image to be projected to the world: it's time we started to rehabilitate the Malfoy name. Your father is too old and too caught up in all the..._events_ that went on to do so—we cannot use him. But you! You're young, you still have your looks...show the world you're genuinely sorry and have moved on and in five years you'll be accepted again; ten and you could be looking at the Malfoy seat on the Wizengamot being reinstated. You just need to work the system."

"And doing an interview with this woman will cause all that to happen?" he asked sceptically.

"Of course not, but it's a start. She's very sympathetic, and it certainly won't hurt us. There's a few hardliners who will never see Malfoys as anything but scum—and I can assure you, the feeling is mutual—but if we can get to the wizard on the street, we can persuade him or her that their views are not the only ones that count. What we have to say is important, too," she looked across at him, genuinely pleading. "Please, Draco. It would mean a lot to us—your father and myself."

He sighed. "Very well, mother. I will meet this woman." Narcissa beamed.

"I will write to her at once to arrange a meeting."

"What is her name?" Draco asked.

"Astoria," his mother replied.

"Ridiculous name," he muttered.

* * *

"Draco Malfoy?" He stood up, looking over at the woman as she crossed into the room. The doors closed behind her. "So good of you to meet me." She was tall for a woman, blonde, and dressed in traditional robes. She seemed a couple of years older than him, which was perhaps what gave her the courage to hold out a hand for him to shake. He did so, and was slightly surprised by her firm grip. She also seemed oddly familiar, something which bothered him as they exchanged pleasantries. He felt like he had met her before—but where?

"Please, have a seat," she said, indicating the chair he had been sat in before she entered the hotel room that had been booked for the interview. She drew up and armchair herself, but did not reach, as he thought she might, for a quill and some parchment straight away. "How is your mother?" she asked.

"She's very well," Draco replied. "She was...pleased with the article you wrote about her."

"I'm glad," the woman said, as her face broke out into a genuine smile. It made her look much prettier than she actually was, Draco thought. "Now, excuse me, I don't believe we've ever properly met. My name's Astoria—Astoria Greengrass."

The name—and the face—clicked into place. "Daphne's sister?" he asked.

"The one and only," Astoria replied. "She was three school years younger than me, but I believe she was in your year?"

"And House," he said. "I, er, knew of her. Is she well?" he added, a beat later.

"Oh, yes, very," Astoria said. "I will be sure to remember you to her."

"Er," said Draco, unsure if he wanted to be remembered to one of his ex-girlfriend's minions.

"Shall we take tea, or would you prefer to get straight to business?" Astoria enquired.

Draco—envisioning hours of awkward small-talk about old school friends—hastily indicated that he would prefer to get straight to it, and Astoria looked pleased. "Don't worry, I won't trap you here any longer than I have to."

"I hardly think I'm trapped," said Draco.

"Oh really? Have you checked those doors, then?" she asked, nodding behind her. He must have looked faintly alarmed because her face broke out into that smile again. "That was a joke! Honestly..."

"Ha ha," he said flatly.

"You'll have to try a bit harder than that to be convincing," she replied.

"Well then _you'll_ have to try a bit harder than that to be funny," he answered.

"Fair point," she acknowledged. "Moving on. What do you want?"

"What do I want?" he asked, thrown. He'd thought that she'd start the interview with an easier question—or at least a more understandable one. "Do you mean what do I want today? For myself? For the wizarding world as a whole? I don't understand..."

"What do you want in exchange for this," Astoria said impatiently. "Your mother wanted an article in the _Daily Prophet_ that painted her in a favourable light; I gave her that. It was four pages long and accompanied by photographs she herself had vetted, and you said yourself she was happy with it. So, I ask again: what's your price? I'm assuming not a fully illustrated interview in the paper?"

"I...what?" Draco asked, genuinely thrown. "I thought this _was_ an interview with the paper? You're a _Prophet_ journalist, aren't you?"

"Oh," said Astoria. And again: "_Oh_." A look of understanding crossed her face, which only annoyed Draco further. "I see. This isn't an interview for the paper."

"Then what is it?" he asked, struggling to keep the irritation from his voice.

Astoria paused. She looked down at her hands, folded in her lap, then back up at him. Her expression was grave as she said, "I'm writing a book. About the war."

"You're writing a book...about the war?" Draco repeated blankly. "And you want to interview me for it?"

"Clever boy!" she said, brightening. He bristled. She could only be four years older than him at most. "Yes, I do. I've already interviewed your mother for it—that was why we met the other day. I'd corresponded with her, asked her to name her price, and she said she'd do it in exchange for an article in the _Prophet_ which was heavily biased in her favour, basically. I mean, it took a bit of persuasion and the article is horribly cloying, I know. But it's what she wanted, and _I _wanted to talk to her so...I did it."

"So you're writing a book about...our...side?" Draco asked, struggling for a moment with what word he wanted to use.

"No," Astoria said. "I'm writing a book about the war. Beginning to end. Soup to nuts. All sides. All the time. Including the middle, after the first fall of Voldemort."

"Soup to nuts?" was all he could think of to respond to that.

Astoria pulled a face. "That may be an Americanism," she allowed.

"Are you...?"

"American? No. But," she added, "I spent many years living there."

"I thought you said you were at Hogwarts?" Draco asked.

"Daphne was, the entire time," she replied. "I was for my first five years—I was just starting my fourth year when you and Daphne came to the school, but I was a Ravenclaw. After my fifth year, after OWLs were over, I had the opportunity to go and live in the States for a while. I completed my last two years of school in Salem, then lived with the magical communities in New York, Boston and Philadelphia for several years. I only came back to Britain about a year and a half ago—but as you can see, I kept the accent."

"So you left..." Draco tried to work backwards.

"Just before you and Daphne began your fourth year," she replied. "Also known as just before the war really started kicking off again."

"So you weren't here for it?" he asked.

Astoria shook her head. "I don't think I really realised how bad it was. The only person in England I really kept in touch with was Daphne, and obviously with her coming from an old Pureblood family who generally keep their heads down, she wasn't in any particular danger. It's only recently that I've started to realise...the extent of it, I suppose."

"You really didn't know?" he asked.

"It wasn't really understood in America," Astoria shrugged. "There's so much mixing of cultures over there. Native American magic, African magic, magic from all over the rest of Europe and Asia and just about anywhere else people have emigrated from. That, combined with the fact that it's such a big country, and wizarding families had to blend in more with muggles just to survive at first, means there's not the hatred towards muggleborns that there is over here. There's prejudice, don't get me wrong. But it's not directed towards muggleborns."

"So what're you going to write?" Draco asked. "An expose on why muggleborns face prejudice? That won't sell."

"No," she replied evenly. "I already know all about the prejudice—the Greengrasses are an old Pureblood family, don't forget."

"Are you a Pureblood?" he asked.

She raised an eyebrow. "Does it matter?"

"Depends who you're asking, I suppose," he replied.

"Does it matter _to you_?" she pressed.

"Will my response go in your book?"

"Not if you don't want it to," she answered.

"I think..." he said slowly. "If you want to write a book about the war—which was about blood status—you've got to have some understanding of the nuances of what being Pureblood means. So you don't necessarily have to _be_ a Pureblood but...it would save an awful lot of time and research."

"An excellent non-response," she said, and he smirked. "And yes, I am a Pureblood. My mother is from an American Pureblood family."

"Is that why you spent some time living out there?" Draco asked.

It wasn't until her face clouded over in response to his question that he realised how much it had lit up when she was talking. "Yes," she said shortly, and it was clear that this was not a subject that could be pursued further. "But back to the book."

"It's very brave of you to want to write a book about Purebloods in this sort of environment," he said. "It's only been three years since the war's ended, and we're still all worshipping the ground Potter and his muggle-loving friends walk on. Some would say foolish..."

"Others would say it's foolish to mention Harry Potter's name in such a derisive tone," she shrugged. "But you're not listening: I'm writing about the war. All of it. Interviewing people from _both sides_."

Draco paused. "So who've you interviewed apart from my mother?"

"Oh," Astoria said, pointedly casual. "Various people."

"Not...?"

"The very same."

"Potter and his cronies don't do interviews. At all."

"They do if you make the price suit them," she said.

"I don't believe it," he said.

"Believe it," Astoria said smugly. "Let's see. Hermione Granger agreed to be interviewed on the condition that I introduced her to some old family friends on the Wizengamot who might be interested in supporting her House Elf rights' Bill. Ron Weasley agreed on the condition that the _Prophet_ doesn't publish a single article about any member of his family that can't be deemed to be in the public interest for the next decade. Harry Potter and his wife both charged extortionate fees that were to be donated in their entirety to a charity for orphans of the war and one for getting children from underprivileged backgrounds into Quidditch respectively."

"That's all?"

"Well, no," she admitted. "There were complicated legal agreements to be signed and some topics that were designated as off-limits right from the start. But it's _something_. So, Mr Malfoy," she added, throwing her hair back and looking directly at him. "What's your price?"

"I haven't said I'll do it yet," he replied at once.

"But you haven't said you won't," she said. "Humour me. If you _were_ to agree to be interviewed for the book, what would you ask for in return? Good publicity, like your mother?"

"How were you able to make that happen?" he asked. "And come to think of it, how were you able to guarantee Weasley there'd be no articles about his family?"

"_Greengrass_," Astoria said slowly. Draco looked at her blankly. "Oh, for Merlin's sake, _Slytherins_. So wrapped up in themselves. My family has owned the _Prophet_ for generations. My father's the current editor in chief."

"Ah, _nepotism_," Draco said, in the same tone she'd said 'Slytherins'.

Astoria shrugged. "It's not my fault that's the way the system works—I'm just the one exploiting it."

"You should have been a Slytherin," he said, and it almost sounded like a compliment.

"I nearly was," she said. "But the Sorting Hat decided I liked books too much, and it's true. I do."

"Is that why you want to write one?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I want to write the truth. Tell people what _really_ happened during the war. Both sides. I have interviews from both sides already; I have the Nott family papers but also some declassified Order of the Phoenix papers...I want a fair and balanced account out there."

"Why?" he asked.

"Because it's important," she said at once. "This war was the biggest thing to happen in Britain for generations. It was the biggest magical conflict since Grindlewald and some people are saying it was bigger than that. We need to _understand_ it, go beyond name-calling and finger-pointing and really understand why it happened, to stop it happening again. There also needs to be a totally non-biased account written: not one from a bitter loser, but equally not one from a smug victor. Do you see?"

He couldn't help but notice the way her face seemed more attractive when she grew passionate about something. It made him want to keep her talking.

"And you think you can be this person?" he asked.

"I like to think I can," she replied. "I guess we'll find out when it's written."

"And how long do you think that will take?"

"Another couple of years," she answered. "I don't want to rush it out. I want to take my time so it's as close to perfect as it can be."

"Do you think it will sell?" he asked.

She smiled. "Oh, I _know_ it will."

"That confident in your own writing?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No, though it is good," she said. "But firstly, I have a parent who is as big as it is possible to get in publishing; secondly, free advertising, at least in the _Prophet_ and thirdly, I have exclusive interviews with the biggest names going."

"And am I one of the biggest names going?" he asked.

"Definitely not," she said. "But you'd be someone I'd be very keen to hear from. I want to know what it was like on _both_ sides. And whilst I don't believe in looking down on muggleborns the way some people do, I don't think the sun shines out of Harry Potter's every orifice, you know?"

Draco snorted.

"So, I ask again: what's your price?" she said. "Money? A word in the right ear? But I suppose you have all that already..." Astoria looked at him. "What do you want, Draco Malfoy?"

_A friend_.

The thought flitted into his mind so suddenly it almost made him jump, and he hoped against hope that she wasn't a legimense. But it was true, though he certainly wouldn't be telling Astoria Greengrass that.

"I suppose," he said, as she was clearly waiting for a response. "The good thing to do would be to charge you a hefty fee and donate it all to charity."

"The good thing, yes," she agreed. "But kind of boring, too, don't you think?"

"What would your response be if I said yes to that?" he asked. "Would that go in the interview?"

"So you _will_ do it?" she pressed.

"I still haven't said—" he began, but she interrupted him.

"No, but you have decided that you'll do it," she said, leaning forwards. "Something in your expression changed—I do believe, Mr Malfoy, that you know what you're going to ask of me. So come on, then. Out with it."

Draco hesitated. He did know what he wanted from her, but he'd only decided a split-second before she figured him out. It was slightly alarming.

Nonetheless, he pressed on. "I want," he said, "to help you with the book."

Astoria sat back in her chair. "I beg your pardon?"

"I want to help you research it," he said.

"You want to help me research it?!" she repeated.

"That's what I said. Do try to keep up."

"But...well, you realise that you couldn't be there when I interview people?" she asked. "It would never do; half of them would throw me out on seeing who I'd brought with me."

"I know that, and I've no desire to listen to Granger prattle on about House Elves for hours anyway," he said impatiently. "But you mentioned papers you've got hold of?"

"Yes," she said. "The Nott family papers; declassified Order of the Phoenix papers; I'm hoping to get access to the Selwyn family papers and Bellatrix Lestrange's personal effects at the time of her death—not to mention all the _Prophet_ back issues on the events as they happened..."

"And all that will take a long time to go through," he pointed out. He could _see_ her changing her mind. "I could help."

She sat up straight. "Why?"

"Why?"

"Yes, why. Do try to keep up." He resisted the temptation to pull a face at her.

"Well, you were right when you said that having a record was important," he said. "And I wouldn't want you to be _too _biased against the Pureblood side." She narrowed her eyes. "I always did enjoy History of Magic, even if it was taught by a ghost. He was one of the few teachers who didn't have any preconceived notions about me because of my name, which was refreshing. And then also...my name."

"Malfoy?" she asked.

He nodded. "I'm bored," he admitted. "I'm unemployable. No one wants me because of who I am. I cannot get a job, and I'm bored. Oh, it's not the money I need," he said quickly. "I just need something to entertain myself. And you have a _lot_ of documents to sift through. Let me do the boring bit, picking out what's relevant to your book. You can do the rest. And, yes, I'll give you an interview if that's what you want. I'll even see what papers my own family has that could go in to the book."

"You just want to help research it?" she asked. "That's your price? Something to do in your spare time?"

"Yes," he said.

"This isn't some pet project for someone who doesn't have anything better to do," she said. "It's serious. I'm serious about it. If you decide to join me, you have to be serious about it, too."

"If you'll give me a job, I'll be as serious as you want me to be," he said. "But also...if you were to show the world that I'm not as despicable as the world seems to think I am, I would thank you."

Astoria just looked at him. "I'll show the world what I see in you," she said. "Whatever that ends up being."

"So do we have a deal?" he pressed.

Astoria said nothing for a long moment. "How soon can you start?"

"Is tomorrow good?" he asked.

"Tomorrow's good," she replied. "Here." She reached into her handbag for the first time and pulled out a small card. "This is my address. Come by at ten. We'll hash out the details."

"Is that a yes?" he asked.

"I still need to think about it," she said. "But it's not a no." She stood up, and he did too. "Thank you for seeing me," she said.

"Not at all," he replied. "I look forward to meeting with you tomorrow."

"Likewise," she said, then she took her leave.

He watched her go.

It wasn't really the book he was interested in—at least, not as much as she thought it was. It sounded mildly intriguing, but it wasn't what he wanted. No, what he wanted was a friend; someone to talk to. Someone who didn't know him—or at least wouldn't judge him for his background. And Astoria Greengrass seemed much more interesting than her book did, at least to him. This way, he got to see her again.

The thought made him smile.

* * *

_Once again for hpshipweeks but also (incredibly belatedly and with enormous apologies for that fact) for Jenna/whirlwinds of watercolours as part of the Gift Giving Exchange for the month of May. May. I know. I'm sorry. Draco/Ravenclaw!Astoria intrigued me. This is a oneshot for now, but I may continue it at some point. But also I'm really bad at continuing things so don't hold me to that, mmkay? Disclaimer: no._


End file.
